


Borrowing

by alafaye



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if they say he doesn't have a place here, she finds a way to give him a place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 12 of the advent challenge and the prompt "controversy".
> 
> Masterlist for advent fics is [here](http://alafaye.livejournal.com/437913.html).

Christmas, for Bucky, had always been about charity. Not about giving--he never had the money or extra things to give--but getting things to keep Steve going for the winter. To get his sisters through the winter. Maybe an extra blanket. Maybe a gift they could share. Maybe an extra meal of soup. But sometimes it was time, too. Plenty of people gave their time--running to get Steve's medicine, coming for a visit. It was a time to think of each other and help each other through the beginnings of winter. A little bright light you could look back on when it was too cold in February, with no heat sometimes and no food, either; it was this little thing to keep you going.

Now, Christmas and charity, it was all so different. Not too much; Bucky remembered being bothered by the stores vying for customers to buy things, how they would try to urge people to buy buy buy. It just lasted longer now. The way that charity was asked for and given--red tape, so much of it. People muttering about giving away when they'd already just bought hundreds of dollars worth of gifts, people griping about lazy good-for-nothings.

Bucky had had to go down into the "bad" neighborhoods, the places that were avoided and there, finally, he'd found some sense of his old world. People helping each other out even when they struggled; they gave their time and hands and back and whatever else they could just to get them all through Christmas.

Walking back to Stark's tower, though, that was...he eyed the crowds surrounding the building. Nat--she had been following him--finally showed herself, linking her arm through his and steered him away, to a coffee shop. A small, out of the way place that was quiet that capitalized on people who wanted coffee that hadn't been messed with. Oh, they offered those frou-frou drinks, but Bucky knew this coffee shop because they offered coffee like he remembered: black, tasting like the stove pot it had been made in.

He eyed the Christmas decorations that had been put up. Nat sat back in her chair. "Are they why you left?"

He took a sip of his coffee. Almost too hot, just the way he liked it. "No. I was looking for the familiar." She raised an eyebrow. He smiled. "I found it."

She nodded. "Good."

He tapped his finger on the small table. "Should I be worried about them?"

"The usual sharks," she answered with a shrug. At his questioning look, she sighed. "A few of them protesting Stark Industries because they feel that SI isn't doing enough charity work." They shared a look, knowing how much of Tony's money and SI's profits got poured back into every community they had an office or factory in. "A few of them are protesting that the Avengers are, by their very existence, threatening peace on Earth. A few are protesting that SI encourages all of their employees to celebrate whatever holiday they wish." She paused. "Most though..." She took out her phone and handed it to him.

He frowned, reading the article. Well, blog opinion that had gotten attention from the news sites. Coming down hard on the Avengers for harboring a war fugitive, someone who stood against peace in America coming from Russia.

"Christmas always brings out the worst in people," Nat said quietly. "Always. And now Christmas is controversial. People pushing for it to be the only recognized holiday in December. People pushing for other faiths to be acknowledged and respected. The war on Christmas."

"And they dragged me into it why?" he asked, so very confused.

She shrugged. "Who knows? Because Christmas is about peace and for those who push for Christmas, you stand as a polar opposite to their American idealized world."

He sat back and tossed her phone back. She caught it, quick as a cat. "I've a bolt hole. You can spend Christmas there." She smirked. "Might even feel familiar."

He raised an eyebrow. 

~~~

It's quiet here in her neighborhood. Well, quiet being a relative term. The bolt hole was in a place where even the gangs and mobs didn't stick around for long and the police only came around when someone bothered to call, which was never. Kids ran around, playing and enjoying the break from school. A drug deal happened in an alley two buildings down. A good time gal stood in a doorway, calling out to any potential customers, Nat included. 

The old woman who lived on the first floor gave Nat a fruitcake she baked herself, eyes crinkling with a shared smile. The neighbor looked Bucky up and down, winked at Nat who winked back. The woman laughed and waved them away. A man on the second floor gave Nat a stick of data and she kissed his cheek. They said something in what Bucky thought might be Turkish, but he wasn't sure. The building creaked and groaned as the wind blew through it.

"Yeah, thought you'd like it," she teased.

He huffed and slipped his hand into her back pocket. She smirked; he winked. "You got anything special to go with that fruitcake?"

She laughed. "What makes you think I'm sharing this?" He pouted and she laughed again. "You want something to go with this rum soaked monstrosity, go get it. See if the thugs next block over will share."

Oh, well, if that wasn't a hint and an invitation. He slipped out onto the fire escape and followed her instructions.

~~~

"Honey, I'm home," he called, coming back in the way he'd left. It's gotten icy on the fire escape and it had almost been a close call. He wondered if she'd dropped water on it on purpose (no one ever said the two of them flirted in any way that made sense) or if it just got that bad from age. 

"I was about to eat without you," she called back.

He breathed deep and smiled. Memories stirred, dead leaves in a howling wind, but he pushed back and he held out the three bottles of vodka he'd taken as spoils. "Got rid of your pests."

She kissed his cheek. "A wonderful present, thank you." She took one of the bottles and opened it. She poured it into two tumblers; no shots for them, they had practically been raised on it back in Russia. ( _Keep them quiet when we don't need them._ ) Two plates were waiting on the coffee table. There was no tv, no radio, nothing. A bolt hole and nothing more. But she clearly felt safe here, safe enough to only have two guns out in the open. There were more hiding, he knew, but this was practically an invitation for him to enjoy his night here.

As they were eating, one of the neighbors put on an old record player and scratchy music floated up. An old tune, one that used to play all the time in December. He eyed Nat. "This isn't just a randomly chosen apartment."

She smiled secretly and kept eating. 

After, all the food enjoyed and two bottles gone and the dishes clean, she took him to the bedroom. It didn't smell stale, thankfully. Music still floated up to them and off in the distance, they could see the star on the tree in the park. Christmas was close and yet so far away; the past right here in his hands and yet pushed away in a safe place where it couldn't bother him; the familiar, up and down in the building and street and keeping out the present with all of its demands and ideas.

Maybe those vultures were right, that he had no place in this modern world in this modern America where people were looking for something sane and familiar.

Trust that Nat would find the heart of his problem and solve it.

He didn't have a place, no. But he could make one--or borrow someone's.

She leaned down and kissed him. Warm and soft and dangerous and pining him down with her hips and training. "Merry Christmas, James."

"Merry Christmas, Natalia."

He licked the grin off her lips, happy.


End file.
